life in a beautiful light
by ladyoftheknightley
Summary: Cause the stars in my eyes, well they twinkle when I see your face... 50 short stories featuring the next-generation, for the Favourite Era Bootcamp challenge at HPFC. 11: James and Fred are determined to look after Lucy...
1. Warmth

**Disclaimer:** The title and lyrics in the summary come from Amy Macdonald's 'Life in a Beautiful Light'; Harry Potter and everything herein associated with it are property of JK Rowling. No profit is being made from this; it is written for entertainment purposes only.

**A/N:** Written for the Favourite Era Bootcamp Challenge at HPFC. 50 drabbles and short stories about the next generation, and dedicated to all those who love him (: Reviews are the only payment I will get for this!

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Warmth

_victoire (15) & dominique (13) & louis (11)  
__924 words_

They lie on the grass in the shade of the apple tree, Victoire (the only one still in her black dress robes) on her back, looking up into the blossoms, Dominique and Louis on their stomachs. Dominique is making a daisy chain, looping the flowers' stems through each other, and Louis watches his sisters drowsily. It's only March, but the south of France is so much warmer than Scotland, and it already feels like summer's on the way.

"It feels a bit like we're skiving," says Dominique, and Victoire nods.

"I should be in double Potions right now," she says. "And here we are in the sunshine..."

"Well, I should be freezing my arse off between the castle and the greenhouses, on my way to Herbology," Louis replies. "But given that it was snowing when we left school the other day, I'm just a bit glad I'm not..."

"The upside of funerals," Dominique says with a straight face. "No double Potions, and Louis's arse remains firmly attached to his body." The three of them laugh. "Is it bad I'm not more sad than I am?" wonders Dominique, once their giggles have died away. "Here we are at our Grandpa's funeral, and all we're doing is giggling over the weather..."

"No," says Victoire immediately. "He had a good, long life and he was happy. He slipped away peacefully in his sleep - would that we could all end like that, at the age of seventy eight. He would have wanted us to be happy." Her face clouded for a moment. "I do miss him, though."

Her siblings nod. "Me, too," they say together. "I wish I'd known him more," Louis continues. "I always thought I knew him quite well, but I have no idea who most of the people here today are - I've never seen them before in my life! It makes me wonder how he knew them, and what his life was really like, you know?"

"It's because they're French," Dominique says seriously, and the other two look at her in confusion. "I mean...well, we're not French, but we're not even half-French, really. Victoire and I speak the language moderately well, but Molly speaks it almost as well as we do, and Rose speaks it better than you, Lou, and she's _nine_, for Merlin's sake! And for all we say we're the French or half-French Weasleys, we're not, really," she continued. "We're just as English as the rest of them, and we don't belong in this world, in Grandpa's world, not really. For all that we love him, and he loved us, we never belonged to his world like _Tante_ Gabrielle's children do."

"Don't let Mum hear you saying that," jokes Louis, but Victoire nods again.

"You're right," she sighs. "You can't belong to both worlds at once, I don't think. We're more English than French, and so's Mum, these days, for all she'd pretend not to be. But just because Britain and Hogwarts is our normal lives, our everyday lives, it doesn't mean we can't _ever_ belong to France. France is our special place, our magical place."

"Our _magical_ place?" Dominique repeats, raising an eyebrow. "You've been reading too much Mills and Boone..."

"But it is!" It's not Victoire speaking up, but Louis, and both sisters turn to him. "France is magical because it's the only place we can be together like this. The three of us, I mean. Normally, we don't see that much of each other and we argue over stupid things - which is what brothers and sisters do. Here, we never seem to argue as much and it brings us closer. But I'm glad that only happens here, because no offense guys, but I couldn't stand being this close to you at home."

"Aww, would hanging around the girls with their evil, nasty girl germs be too much for ickle Louis's reputation to handle?" teases Dominique, with a hugely exaggerated lisp.

"Nah, it's not that," Louis shakes his head. "It's that, if we spent this much time together when we were at home, we'd end up killing each other."

Victoire laughs. "You're not wrong, kiddo," she says, rolling over onto her front to face her two siblings. "In France, we understand each other. Normally, it's probably best to save on the collateral damage and just spend most of our time apart. But today, with Grandpa gone, I'm glad to have you both." Dominique loops her ankle over Victoire's, and Louis reaches over and squeezes her hand. Life's not perfect, but neither are they, and for now, it's enough to lie in the warmth of the early spring sunshine, hovering in limbo in their magical place before they have to return to normal.

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**A/N:** please leave a review, but don't favourite without reviewing (:


	2. Shadows

Shadows

_rose & albus, both 18  
__719 words_

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The day is lengthening, and so are the shadows as Rose heads down to the lake. Dinner is over, but the leavers' celebrations haven't started yet, though the Gryffindor Common Room is packed full of people shrieking and hugging and crying and laughing. There's so much emotion in the castle tonight, and it's overwhelming her. She loves her friends and her family, but right now she just wants to be _alone_. Slipping out of the castle and into the grounds finally allows her some peace and quiet, so she's annoyed when she spies another figure sat by the lake - until she sees who it is.

"Hey, Al."

He looks up and smiles at her. "Hey yourself. Fancy some quiet?" She nods, and sits herself down next to him.

"There's just too many people around," she says. "I needed a breather before I could face the party, you know?"

It's his turn to nod. "I know," he replies. "Everyone's going crazy in there!"

"Is it weird that I don't care too much about all the crying and the screaming and everything?" asks Rose. "I'm sad to leave Hogwarts, obviously, but I don't see the need to go crazy like everyone in there. Is that normal?"

"Yeah, you're asking the guy who's hiding down by the lake instead of being inside," Albus laughed. "_I_ would definitely say it's normal, other people...maybe not."

"Well, I'm glad you agree. I just can't stand all the emotion - I mean, Shelby Carmichael wept on my shoulder for nearly ten minutes before I could escape, about how much she's going to miss me and everything. But I've barely spoken to five words to her in the whole seven years we've been here! I hate all this fake emotional rubbish. Anyway. Sorry. Ranting," she finishes rather awkwardly, in staccato sentances. "Who're you hiding from?" she asks curiously, to change the subject slightly. "Anyone? Or just everyone?"

"Time," Albus replies, rather enigmatically.

"Time?" she repeates.

"Yeah. It passes too quickly" says Albus. "Doesn't it just seem five minutes since we first started here? Since we rode on the boats up this lake, before we'd even got Sorted?"

"In some ways," agrees Rose. "But it's been fun. I've had the best time here at Hogwarts, but I know there's still good times to come." Albus quirks an eyebrow at her. "Oh, c'mon! Don't you remember what you said to me, that night before we were going to come to school for the first time? I was so scared because I thought I'd hate it, and you said that as long as we had each other, we'd have a good time. We _have_ had each other, and we _have_ had a good time. So as long as we stick together tomorrow, and the rest of our lives, things will continue to be just awesome."

He smiles. "You're right," he says, getting to his feet and pulling her up too. "Come on, we should get back inside and enjoy the party. It's just not going to be as awesome without the two of us there."

"Oh, Merlin no, I don't want to!" Rose says, trying to drag him back down onto the grass. "Didn't you listen to my moaning earlier? I don't want to go inside and pretend to be sad that I won't see most of those people again. You and Scorp and Ellie and Rob are the only ones I'm sad about leaving - and I won't be leaving you guys because we'll still see each other all the time!"

"This is true," allows Albus, "but you just said that if we stick together, we have fun. So I'm going to stick to you and _make_ you have fun at this party!"

"Can't you just go yourself and have fun, if it means that much to you?" she grumbles.

"What, and do something without my fearless partner-in-crime by my side?" asks Albus. "You know it wouldn't be the same!"

"That's true," she laughs, slipping her arm through his.

They walk back up to the castle together, standing so close that their shadows are just one person, a conjoined twin RoseandAlbus. He doesn't know what the future will bring, and she doesn't know if she'll enjoy it, but they do know that they don't have to face it alone, and that's something.

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**A/N: **Reviews make me love you (:


	3. Sunset

Sunset

_Lucy  
__1,038 words_

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It's her Auntie Ginny who teaches her to fly - but given that her Dad just doesn't understand Quidditch and her Mum is scared of heights, that's perhaps not too unusual. She's staying at her Aunt and Uncle's house whilst Molly's in the hospital - Molly's always in the hospital with one thing or another - and Ginny's trying to distract her from her worry about her sister. She's found the old training broom that used to be Teddy's hidden away at the bottom of the garden, and she rather unceremoniously plonks Lucy onto it, holding onto her hands as she flies slowly around the garden at the height of all of two feet.

By her third turn around the garden, four year old Lucy is flying all by herself at the fastest speed the broom will go (which is, of course, not very fast) and she thinks it's the best thing ever. For the next five years, she pesters and pesters her parents for a broom of her own every Christmas and birthday, but they refuse. She's too young, they say, or too small - too small comes out a lot. Lucy favours her Auntie Ginny and maternal Grandmother physically in one way only: she's short. She's five years older than her youngest cousin, Lily, but strangers on the street often mistake them as being the same age. Not until she has the body mass needed to control it will she be allowed to have her own broom.

So she eats and eats and eats but she doesn't seem to put on any weight, and she just wants to cry with the frustration of it all. Her mother laughs, not unkindly, and tells her that in a few years, she'll be very glad of that particular attribute, and her father chuckles and tells her she's just like her Uncle Ron, who has a bottomless hole where his stomach should be. Only Auntie Ginny understands and sympathises, and tells her that from the age of six, she was breaking into the broomshed and taking out her brothers' brooms, one at a time.

Which is nice, and everything, but Lucy is eight now, and her parents don't have a broomshed for her to break into and steal brooms from. Almost a year later, though, they're at the Burrow for Uncle Ron's birthday and, whilst everyone's distracted with the cake Grandma Molly has made, she sneaks out, remembering her Aunt's words, and unlocks the broomshed. She selects Ginny's old Nimbus 2000, the broom Harry brought her for her seventeenth birthday, climbs on, and rides. It's not as fast as it once was - in fact, by professional standards, it's practically an antique - but it's the most glorious experience she's ever had.

At least until her parents, having noticed she's missing, come running out of the house, and their shouting startles her so badly she falls off the broom and breaks her arm.

Fortunately, Grandma Molly is there to fix her arm, and Uncle Bill is there to supply the stiff brandy to calm her Dad down after seeing his precious daughter falling. The whole thing ends up working out quite well for her in the end - Auntie Ginny says that Lucy really ought to have some training on a broom so that similar situations don't happen again. She drops her niece a wink as she says this, and, after some persuasion, Percy and Audrey give in.

It is agreed that Lucy will go to the Potters' every Thursday evening when the weather is fine, and Ginny will instruct her on how to ride a broom (and, later, how to play Quidditch). Molly is offered the chance to learn at the same time, but declines; James, Albus and Lily sometimes join in, but most times, it's just Lucy and her Aunt. Those Thursday evenings as the sun goes down are the best part of her week for the next two and a half years, and she's partly reluctant to go to Hogwarts because the lessons will have to stop.

Of course, in her first year she has flying lessons with Madam Hooch and the other first years, but flying in the middle of the day is just not the same as flying at sunset. Despite this, she's still the best in her year at it and the first thing she does as a second year is try out for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. The Captain, Robert Smith, is a mean sixth year, who refuses to allow her to join the team as Seeker as that's the position his girlfriend plays. Lucy is a much better Seeker than his girlfriend; a fact that is never more obvious than in the last game of the season - Hufflepuff verses Ravenclaw. The teams have been playing for five and a half hours before Robert finally gets frustrated and brings on Lucy as a reserve Seeker. Not ten minutes later, at the start of a glorious April sunset, Lucy catches the Snitch.

She goes on to Captain her House team, and later play for the Holyhead Harpies and England like her Aunt before her, and over the course of her career, she plays in many fine matches, but her favourites remain those that took place at sundown. _There's just something about the sky being streaked with orange and red and gold and pink that makes flying so much more magical_, she writes in the opening lines of her autobiography.

When her Aunt Ginny finally dies (a mere three months after her husband's peaceful end) at the very respectable age of one hundred and seventeen, Lucy herself is getting on a fair bit - indeed, in a little under two months, she'll be a Great-Grandmother. Ginny's funeral is packed - hundreds of people come to celebrate her life - and the tributes flow for days on end (and rightly so, Lucy thinks). But for her, the best tribute to her Aunt comes after the service in the evening, when ninety something Lucy climbs onto a broom and circles around the garden of the Godric's Hollow house as the sun sets. There's nothing quite like flying at sunset, and that is something both Lucy and Ginny understand.

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**A/N:** Thank you so much to everyone who reviews :) I really do appreciate them!


	4. Driven

Driven

_dominique (16)  
__1,253 words_

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OWL exams aren't really what you'd call a happy time for anyone, but for Dominique, they're twice the hell because no one seems to take her seriously. They look at her, see her long blonde hair and classic Veela looks and dismiss her as some bimbo. On her first day in Arithmancy, three Ravenclaw boys actually laugh outright and ask her if she's gotten lost on the way to Muggle Studies. She hits them with a French hex her Aunt Gabrielle taught her, and, when she explains to the Professor why they have orange and blue tentacles, she's given a short warning and told to get back to work.

(Professor Clearwater finishes with the equations ten minutes early that day and gives them a short talk on feminism. She doesn't allow the boys to go to the Hospital Wing to get their tentacles removed by Madam Spinnet until the end of the school day - even though she's their Head of House and Dominique's a Gryffindor. From that day forwards, Dominique always insists that Professor Clearwater is the best teacher at Hogwarts and will not hear a word said against her - something which causes Uncle Percy to splutter a lot and turn pink when she mentions it at a party at the Burrow, although no one will tell her why.)

But in spite - or maybe because of - her looks, Dominique works harder than anyone in her year for her OWL exams, and impresses all of the teachers with her dedication. Her hard work pays off, too - she comes top of the year in Charms, and achieves a further 3 O grades in Care of Magical Creatures, Astronomy and History of Magic. Even though she loathes both Ancient Runes and Potions with a passion, she studies enough for the exams that she still comes away with fairly decent grades, despite the fact that she's planning on dropping them as soon as she's able.

The morning of her exam results comes far too soon, and her fingers are shaking when she opens the envelope. Her parents exclaim with pride over the four 'O' grades and five 'Exceeds Expectations', but for Dominique, the only grade she can think about is the one 'Acceptable' in Transfiguration.

It's the one subject she's never been any good at, no matter how hard she works. She can practise spells until the hippogriffs come home; spend hour after hour after hour reading theory and memorising dates, but when it comes down to it, she just _can't_ do it. And when she sees that 'A' on the parchment, it's all she can think about (even though an A is still a pass, and she got four 'O's, and she genuinely thought she might have failed Herbology but she got an 'E', and Professor Clearwater sent her a special note of congratulation on her Arithmancy result...) But she puts on a brave face for her parents and says _yes, I am very proud to have done this well!_ and _I guess all that studying paid off then_ and _maybe you could buy me a new broom for doing so well?_ with a cheeky wink. Her father laughs and tells her she should be so lucky, but when he draws her in for a hug, he whispers "I'll see what I can do," in her ear and she knows that she'll get her broom, and so she should have yet another reason to feel happy, but she _doesn't_.

She thinks instead that maybe what everyone says about her is right - maybe, she_ is_ just some dumb bimbo girl who's not clever enough to survive on anything other than her looks.

Later in the day, her mother finds her sat on the beach, surrounded by pebbles and melancholy. "You are not 'appy with your Transfiguration grade," she says, matter of factly, and Dominique sees no point in denying it.

"It's just not fair," she says. "I worked harder for that than any of my other subjects and I barely passed. Everyone will think that I'm stupid!"

"My dear girl, you got four 'O's, five 'E's and one 'A'," Fleur says wryly. "That is not what a stupid girl would get! Besides, an A is still a grade to be proud of!"

"Maybe, but..." Dominique pauses for a moment. "I feel like I failed, which is silly because I did pass, but..."

"I zhink I know your problem," her mother replies. "You are like me - you are driven by a need to prove yourself to everyone. You want zhem to see you as more than just a pretty face, _non_?"

"Yes!" exclaims Dominique. "People think I'm not clever because I'm pretty, and I wanted to prove them wrong. And I know what you're going to say," she adds, cutting her mother off before she can even begin talking. "You're clever and pretty, you have good looks and a job you worked hard for! You and Victoire get to be beautiful but still have people take you seriously. You don't know anything about failure!"

"Oh my dear," sighs her mother. "I know more zhan you failure." Dominique scoffs. "It is true!" Fleur protests. "When I was seventeen, I was so desperate to prove myself to zhe world. I wanted to be more zhan just zhe girl boys lusted after, I wanted to be...I wanted to be zhe best. And when I was made Beauxbatons' champion...well, it was a dream come true. But I failed at zhe Triwizard Tournament - I failed more zhan I 'ave failed at anything since zhen."

"Yeah, but that Tournament was highjacked by the Death Eaters, wasn't it?" replies Dominique. "It doesn't matter that you failed because, hello, it was the start of a war!"

"Oh, no, I am not talking about zhe return of Voldemort," Fleur said quickly. "I failed long before zhat took place - in zhe second task. I 'ad to rescue my sister, _Tante_ Gabrielle, and I could not. I failed her."

"But...I mean, she's still alive, right?" Dominique says uncertainly. It's a stupid question - she _knows_ her Aunt is still alive because they saw her just last week when she came on holiday to London - but the sadness on her mother's face is enough to make her think that something awful must have happened.

"Of course she was fine," Fleur says, waving a hand impatiently. "But no zhanks to me. Your Uncles were the ones to save her, not I. I was seventeen, she eight, and I failed 'er completely. I was not good enough. So you see - I understand what it is to be so driven and still not make it, to fail."

"So what did you do?" Dominique asks.

"I carried on with my life," her mother says, simply. "I realised, after a while, zhat I could spend my entire life wondering 'what if', or zhinking about my failure...or I could learn from it and move on. You cannot change zhe past, _ma cherie_, but you can learn from it. Do not punish yourself, zhink instead of all zhe good zhings you 'ave accomplished."

It's cheesy advice, maybe, but it works, Dominique thinks, as her mother drops a kiss on her head and walks back to the house. There is no point sitting around and lamenting her failure to get the grade she wanted, she just has to move on. Besides, if her mother managed to carry on after such a failure, she's sure that she can, too. "I don't need to lose my drive," she says aloud, to the sand and the sea and the sun, "I just need to channel it elsewhere. Failing doesn't make me a failure."_**  
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**A/N: **Thank you for all your lovely comments so far! My apologies for taking so long to update - the next chapter definitely won't take so long. (This one's dedicated to anyone who got their AS or A Level results last Thursday and didn't do as well as they expected. Failing does not make you a failure, and things will get better sooner or later. Trust me.)


	5. Options

Options

_rose (13)  
1,499 words_

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"Miss Weasley?" Rose looks up at Neville - no, Professor Longbottom here - as he calls her into his office. She takes a seat and a Ginger Newt, as directed, in front of his desk, and he smiles over at her. They exchange pleasantries, he inquires after her parents' health and she the state of his fanged Geraniums, and then they get down to business. "Now, have you chosen your options for next year?" he asks. Rose, he thinks, will be easy - he'll simply need to mark down her choices and send her on her way.

"Yes," she responds, "I'd like to take all of them."

For a brief moment, Neville is stunned, before realising he's talking to Hermione Granger's daughter. "I'm afraid that's not possible, Rose," he says kindly.

"It is!" Rose protests. "My Uncles Bill and Percy both have twelve OWLS - that's the seven core subjects that everyone studies, plus all five of the optional subjects. If they could do it..."

"Yes, but their timetable necessitated them using a time turner to attend all their lessons," Neville replies, for this is no longer a secret that must be closely guarded. "This was common practise for 67 years at Hogwarts - the Ministry supplied Time Turners for students who wished to study all the subjects and could not fit them into their timetable the normal way. However, an unfortunate incident occurred several years ago, whereby all the Time Turners were destroyed," he pauses and scratches his head slightly embarrassedly. "You can, er, ask your parents about that one. Anyway," he continues, switching back to his more formal, teaching voice, "the Ministry now have a greatly reduced stock of Time Turners, and so no longer loan them out to OWL students. You must select a maximum of three subjects - and trust me, that will seem quite enough when the exams roll around!"

"Oh," says a rather crestfallen Rose. "Then I'm not really sure what I want to take..."

"Not to worry, that's what this session is for," replies Neville cheerfully. "We can talk over the subjects at see what would suit you best. Let's start with...hmm...Muggle Studies. Do you have any thoughts on that?"

Rose nods enthusiastically. "I have a pro and con list for all the subjects," she says, and Neville stifles a grin. "Muggle Studies is one hundred per cent written examination, and as I perform marginally better on written exams than practical ones, this form of assessment would suit me best. However, as I've grown up with Muggle grandparents, I might find the work a little...repetitive. Now, Divination a lot of people say is a soft option and no good if you're not a Seer, but as I've never been taught it before, I would have to take the lessons to find out if I have Sight or not. Arithmancy, on the other hand-"

"If I could just stop you there," Neville jumps in, and Rose pauses. "You seem to have given a lot of thought to methods of assessment and whatnot - which is very laudable, and I wish some of your peers had done the same - but what about what you want to do? What would you like to study?"

"I...well, I'd quite like to take Care of Magical Creatures because Hagrid teaches it," Rose says doubtfully. "But that's not really a reason to take a subject, is it? I mean, I may as well do it because my friends are doing it..."

"On the contrary - it's important to enjoy your subjects as much as you can," replies Neville. "If anything, it might make you more likely to do your homework the moment it's set! Regardless, you will need similar skills in Care of Magical Creatures as you need in Herbology, and as you are doing very well at that, I see no reason for you to not succeed there also. Is it a subject you would like to study?" Rose nods. "Then I'll put you down for it, okay?" She nods again, and Neville notes something down on a sheet of parchment. "Now, I take it you'll want to take two more subjects, not just one?"

Rose nodded. "My parents say I should make up my own mind and do whatever interests me," she says, "but _everything_ interests me! Although, Dad did say I shouldn't do Divination because it's a load of old b-rubbish..."

"With the greatest respect to my colleagues in the Divination department," Neville says, just about managing to keep a straight face, "it is. As someone who - forgive me - is not nearly odd enough to have the Sight, I rather feel it would be a waste of your considerable talents to choose that subject."

"I guess it'll have to be Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, then," Rose says, but there's a hesitation in her voice that gives her teacher pause before he notes this down.

"So, Care of Magical Creatures, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy?" he prompts, as Rose bites her lip in agitation.

"Yes," she says. "I mean, no. I mean - the first two, definitely, yes."

"But not Arithmancy?" clarifies Neville.

"It's just...I really want to do Muggle Studies," Rose says. "But people say it's a soft option. But it does interest me, and Arithmancy...well, I had a look at the core textbooks in the library and it looks horrible. I honestly think I'd hate it."

"Then don't take it," advises Neville. "Take Muggle Studies instead. Nothing on offer here is a 'soft option' - all subjects have their own merits. If you really don't want to-"

"But...Mum was really good at Arithmancy. And I think she'd want me to take it," she says quietly.

"Rose - again, with the greatest respect - I happen to have known your mother for many years and I know for a fact that she wouldn't force you to take a subject you weren't happy with. She'll be proud of you no matter what subjects you take or what grades you get," Neville replies.

"It's not just Mum, though," she continues. "Everyone expects me to be this super genius person because Mum was. And I'm just...average. I do well in lessons because I read a lot around the subject, and I'm not _stupid_. But I'm not like her, and I always feel like I'm letting people down when they find out I'm not a genius."

"Who do you feel you're letting down?" Neville asks sharply. "If any of the teachers are treating you like that, I'm more than happy to have a word. It's highly unprofessional."

"No, none of the Professors have said anything directly," Rose says quickly. "It's just that they, along with almost everyone else I meet, seem to expect me to be a carbon copy of my mother, and that's just not me!"

Neville gives her a rueful smile. "If there's one thing I know about, it's people expecting you to be a clone of your parent," he says. "That is exactly what my family expected of me - that I'd be just as good as my father had been at everything, and when I wasn't, I felt like a failure."

"What did you do?" Rose asks, eyes wide.

"Well, I struggled, to tell you the truth," he admits. "There were people who told me to ignore them, and 'be my own person' and things like that, but...well, that's very hard when you're thirteen, isn't it?" he asks sympathetically.

Rose nods sadly. "Mum doesn't expect me to be her, which is good," she says slowly, "but it's like...there's another thing she's good at - being a parent. If she expected all this of me, I could at least hate her for it, but she doesn't, so I can't. I just wish there was something I knew she'd failed at. It sounds horrible, but it would make her more relatable..."

Neville hums in sympathy - it was like watching history repeat itself, he thinks, and he wishes there was something he could do to help. His eyes fall on the parchment sheet containing Rose's OWL Options.

"You know," he begins, "your mother originally signed up for all twelve OWL subjects and used a Time Turner to attend all the lessons, but at the end of her third year, she dropped two subjects, handed in the Time Turner and continued with a normal timetable - it's why she 'only' has ten OWLs. Even she - one of the cleverest people I know - couldn't cope with the stress it caused."

Rose's eyes widen at this. "Your mother isn't perfect, Rose," he continues, "though it will be a few more years before you can truly understand why that statement is true. But for now, I hope it's enough for you to know that she faced the same problems as you at the age of thirteen. Neither of you are perfect, and you shouldn't let your desire for perfectionism stop you doing something you want to."

She nods, looking much more relaxed than when she first walked into his office. "I think I might write and tell Mum and Dad what subjects I've chosen tonight," she says. "And I'm going to do Muggle Studies, not Arithmancy."

"Good idea!" Neville replies. "I'm sure they'll be very interested to hear what you've chosen - especially your father." Rose frowns in confusion. "He is, from what you've said, very concerned that you might make the grave error of choosing Divination. Not that I, as a teacher, can agree with that statement, but..."

Rose laughs. "I'll tell him you said that. Or didn't say it..."

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**A/N: **Whilst Harry and Ron only take 2 options subjects for OWL, Hermione takes 3 so I'm guessing that more able students have a greater workload? That's just my interpretation of canon though, so if anyone can prove me wrong with it, go ahead!

Also, tomorrow (well, technically today now, in my timezone) is my birthday (I'm 20! Yay me!), so if you could review, that would be the best birthday present ever :)


	6. Motorcycle

Motorcycle

_James Sirius (15) & Albus Severus (13)_  
_1,575 words_

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"Yeah? Well you're just jealous that Louis got made Gryffindor Prefect not you!"

"Oh, please! Who'd want to be a Prefect? Only smarmy little suck-ups like you! I've got much better things to be doing than kissing all the teachers' arses constantly."

Harry sighs as he steps out of the floo. It had been a long day in the office, full of tedious paperwork that needed filling out and legislation that needed checking, double checking, then signing in triplicate. He'd skipped lunch after one of the Junior Aurors wanted him to look over a case with her, and then he'd been detained for an extra forty minutes at the end of the day when one of the trainees had to be disciplined for inappropriate behaviour during training. He'd arrived home looking forward to a nice dinner and perhaps a bottle of wine with Ginny later, but apparently this was not going to happen.

"I can't help it that I'm clever than you even though I'm two years younger!"

"You don't have to be clever to do this though, do you?" There is a thump, a yelp, and a second thump, and Harry breaks into a run, arriving in the sitting room just in time to see Albus massaging his arm as James glares at him, his red face almost indistinguishable from his red face.

"What is going on here?" he thunders, looking at both of his sons in turn. "Well?" he asks, when no answer is forthcoming.

"He hit me!" Albus says indignantly.

"He deserved it!" James retorts.

"No one deserves to be hit," Harry says firmly. "James, wait here please. I'll deal with you in a moment. Albus, follow me."

His second son follows him into the kitchen, where Harry pulls out a freeze packet and casts the charm to activate it. "Keep this on your arm for half an hour, it'll take down the swelling," he instructs, handing it to Albus. "Now, tell me why James hit you. I heard you taunting him, so don't try to deny you weren't up to something..."

"All I said was that I'm cleverer than him," Albus says.

"And?" Harry prompts, raising an eyebrow.

"And that he wasn't any good because he didn't get the Prefect badge," his son admits.

"And was that a nice thing to do?" Harry asks.

"No, it wasn't... Sorry Dad."

"It's not me you need to apologise to," his father says. "Now, your mother is still at work, is that correct?" Albus nods. "By the time she gets back, I want all those vegetables peeled and chopped for dinner, and the table set out in the dining room - _without_ magic. I also don't want to hear you taunting your brother - or anyone else, for that matter - for the rest of the holidays, and for you to apologize to James, okay?"

"Yes Dad," Albus says. "Sorry, Dad."

Harry nods. "Thank you Albus. Now, get started on those chores, yes?" He waits for Albus to pick up a knife and the chopping board, then heads off to find his older son. This one, he thinks, will probably be more difficult.

His thoughts are confirmed when he arrives in the sitting room to find James gone, even though he told him to remain where he was. It doesn't take him long to find him - once he's checked his bedroom and still not located him, a quick glance out of the window shows him his youngest son angrily tearing up the grass surrounding the old oak tree in the garden. Annoyed, Harry apparates down to the garden, not even bothering to silence his 'pop', which makes James jump.

"I thought I told you to remain where you were, and not start senselessly destroying my garden?" Harry asks, but James just shrugs. "Look at me when I'm talking to you!" he snaps. James glares up at him. "I'm sick of your attitude, young man, but more importantly, I'm very angry at you for hitting your brother."

James gets to his feet. "He deserved it," he says fiercely, turning away.

"James Sirius Potter!" Harry snaps, "Don't you dare-"

"Don't call me that!" James yells, turning back towards his father. "Don't call me it! I hate it! I hate it!"

"I...what?" Harry asks, so confused he momentarily forgets to be angry.

"I hate it," James says for the third time, dropping down onto his knees and covering his face with his hands. Rough sobs began to escape from behind his hands, shaking his shoulders, and Harry crouches down beside his son. He hadn't seen James cry since he was nine years old, and he had no idea why he should suddenly have developed an aversion to his own name. Concern trumps his anger, and he reaches over to him.

"Hey now," he said, patting his oldest child on the back. "Come on. What's wrong?"

"I hate that you called me that," James says, his voice ragged. "I hate that I have so much to live up to - everyone expects me to be like James Potter and Sirius Black and I'm just not them!"

"Oh James, no one expects you to be like them!" Harry says soothingly. "You're your own person, and no one who really matters expect you to be a replica of either your Grandfather or Sirius. It's okay."

"No, it isn't! You don't get it!" his son says, jerking away from him. "It's not enough for me not to be good enough to be them, I'm not good enough to be _you_, either!"

"Not good enough to be...hang on a minute, is this what your fight with Albus was about?" Harry asks, still trying to make sense of his son's angry ramblings.

"Everyone knows Albus is the mini-you! Everyone knows he looks like you and acts like you and gets good grades like you, but I don't get good grades even when I try, and I'm not Prefect, Louis is, and I'm always getting into trouble and you never did!" James cries. "It's not fair, Dad."

"Oh James," Harry says, unable to resist a wry chuckle. "You are so much more like me than you think. I was always getting into trouble, too, and I was never a Prefect - that was your Uncle Ron, and as for my grades...well, they weren't stellar, but they weren't that bad, either. Just like yours." James blinks. "In that sense, you're much more like me than Albus is, for all he's the one to resemble me physically. And besides - not that it matters, but both of your namesakes got into more trouble at school than even you for pulling pranks!"

"Maybe, but that doesn't change the fact that everyone expects me to be just like you and Grandad Potter and Sirius, but I don't want to be. Everyone compares me to you three when I don't do as well as you, and when I do, everyone just says it's because I'm related to you..." James says.

"Really? And who is 'everyone', exactly?" Harry asks.

"I dunno. People. Albus," his son mutters in response.

"Albus thinks you should be more like me? What?" Harry says. "Oh, you're talking about what he said earlier? That was just because you two were arguing - he doesn't mean it. I've told him to apologise to you, but you need to say sorry to him for hitting him, understand me? That was wrong."

"Yes Dad. Sorry, Dad," James says, and Harry grins to himself at how similar his sons are.

"Good lad," he says, patting his son on the back. "Now, believe me when I say that no one who matters expects you to be me, or your Grandad, or Sirius. They just expect you to be _you_ - and your mother and I are proud of you for doing that. Just because you're not a Prefect, or top of the class in Ancient Runes or whatever...it doesn't matter. We love you no matter what, okay? That has nothing to do with who you were named after - we love you for you, not what you're called."

James wipes his eyes quickly, and Harry pretends not to notice. "Thanks Dad. Does this mean I'm not going to be punished?" he adds hopefully, after a small pause. Harry laughs.

"Not a chance! See that shed there? It needs cleaning out - and I mean properly cleaning, without magic. You can start tomorrow, but I expect it to be done by the time I get back from work, you hear?"

* * *

The next day, Harry steps out from the floo to find a much calmer household. After waving hello to his wife and daughter in the kitchen, he wanders into the garden to find James standing in the doorway of the shed, frowning at something. "Everything going alright?" he asks.

His son turns to him. "Since when have you owned a motorbike? Or is this Grandpa's?"

Harry peers over James' shoulder at the big black motorcycle inside the shed. He'd forgotten that was kept in there, the symbol of Sirius' rebellion all those years ago.

"It's mine, not your Grandpa's," he says. "Though I'm not the original owner."

"Who's was it?" James asks. "And can I have a go on it?!"

Harry is about to say no, but closes his mouth just before the word comes out. Sirius would be disappointed in him if he said that, and besides, James has done a good job of tidying motorbike may as well be used by James as much as anyone. But just yesterday he was saying that he didn't want to be compared to anyone - least of all his namesakes - and he certainly doesn't need any more encouragement to rebel... On the other hand, maybe he should be left to decide what he wants to do, once he knows all the facts... Harry muses.

"Let me tell you about the original owner of this bike," he says, sitting down with his back to the shed. James quickly joins him. "Once upon a time, there was a young man called Sirius Black..."

* * *

**A/N: **I've always thought that Harry's children would feel the pressure of living up to their namesakes - especially James! This was written for the 'rebellion' slice of the Chinese Moon Festival Competition, with James II (and Sirius too, I guess) going through a bit of a teenage rebellion. Hope you enjoyed, please leave a review!


	7. Marshmallow

**A/N: **This is also for the **100 Characters Competition** using prompt #2, yellow and the **Snakes and Ladders Challenge** with Pomona Sprout. I'm thinking of doing a 'Sorting story' for each of the next-gen kids – let me know in a review if that's something you'd be interested in seeing.

Marshmallow

_victoire (11)  
__3,088 words_

* * *

The Welcome Feast was always an important event in the Hogwarts calendar, for the staff as well as the students. Though they were sure to keep a neutral façade in front of the students, the Heads of Houses were often as anxious as the first years about the Sorting process – it was very important for them to have a good crop of new students who would respect their House's traditions and, hopefully, earn enough points that the House stood a good chance of winning the Cup that year.

Pomona Sprout was no exception to this rule, and this year she was particularly anxious to ensure she had a reasonable number of new Hufflepuffs. The previous year, a mere four students had been sorted into her House – though it had been a particularly small year group due to the war, which had reached its peak eleven years previously. Many wizarding families had postponed having children until the war was over, leaving a very small group of children in what was now second year, and an overly large proportion of muggleborns – three out of the four students in her House that year had come from families with no prior knowledge of magic.

Still, this year looked to be a more normal demographic – or at least, this was what Minerva had assured her when she had come to join herself and Neville for a cup of tea in the Greenhouses a few days before the start of term.

"It's a much more normal sized year coming in this year," the Headmistress had said. "Forty-three students, instead of just the twenty-one we had last year."

"Even now we're still seeing the effects of Lord Voldemort's regime," Pomona had sighed, as Neville nodded solemnly.

"Indeed we are," agreed Minerva. "Still, next year, we will see a more...how can I put this?...positive effect of the war." The other two staff members had looked at her in confusion. "There was something of a post-war baby boom, once the initial chaos had died down," she explained. "We'll have sixty-eight new students to welcome next year!"

"Blimey!" said Neville. "Better build an extra wing of the castle, then!"

"I hope I'll get a reasonable number of Hufflepuffs out of that lot," Pomona laughed. "Four is just a pitifully small number of students to have in one year – I'm looking forward to our dormitories being bursting at the seams again."

"Oh, you know that no matter how many students you have, you'll never have enough to beat us at Quidditch!" Minerva teased, and Neville laughed.

"Yes, I do hope we manage to make a good Quidditch team this year," he said. "What with it being my first year as Head of House, it would be nice to start as we mean to go on..."

"Well, we have the first of the Weasleys starting this year," Minerva said. "Victoire, I believe – Bill and Fleur's oldest daughter. I wonder what she'll be like on a broom?"

"They are a Quidditch mad family," Neville agreed. "There's a pretty high chance that she'll at least have some skills on a broom!" Minerva nodded, but Pomona cut across them both.

"You're talking like it's a definite that she'll go to Gryffindor," she protested, but only half-heartedly.

"She's a _Weasley_," Minerva said firmly. "Of course she'll go to Gryffindor!" And Pomona could not argue with this.

Now, sat at the High Table, she looked at the anxious-looking crowd of first years who were waiting to be sorted, trying to see who she recognised. There were a few students who looked like potential Hufflepuffs (it was no surprise to her when Sarah Clearwater joined her House – her mother had been Naomi Abbott before she married, and Abbotts had been Hufflepuffs for generations), and she was sure that the ginger-haired girl standing near the front was Victoire Weasley. She was taken aback when the girl turned out to be "Hopkirk, Matilda" (who went to Ravenclaw), and began scanning the group again.

It wasn't until there were only three students left that she realised that the little girl with the silvery-blonde hair must be Victoire – her mother, she remembered, had been part Veela – and when Professor Flitwick called her up to the stool and a murmur went around the hall, the girl's fiery red blush confirmed that she was, indeed, a Weasley. The family were both very famous and very private, and their children were rarely seen out in public because of this. Pomona respected their decision – after all, who would want their children growing up in the limelight if they could help it? – but thought that they had rather left Victoire unprepared for the staring and the craned necks she was receiving as she was Sorted. She glared at the students in her House who were whispering to each other, and they settled down immediately.

The Sorting took a long time – several minutes – however, and she noticed that the students were starting to give each other quick glances. What was taking so long? Everyone knew that Weasleys always went to Gryffindor...

After nearly four minutes, the rip in the Hat opened and announced 'Hufflepuff!'. There was a beat of silence, before the table on the far side of the room burst into cheers and yells, and Pomona added her applause to her students'. She glanced to her left, and saw Neville looking openly surprised, and even Minerva quirked an eyebrow almost imperceptibly at her. Looking towards the Gryffindor table, she saw a sea of disappointed faces – though none more so than Teddy Lupin. From her seat at the Hufflepuff table, she watched as Victoire gave him a tiny, almost defiant shrug, then returned to shaking hands with the many Hufflepuffs who wanted to introduce themselves to her.

Two more students were Sorted, then the feast began. Pomona saw the look of relief on Victoire's face – a plate of food meant she had an excuse not to talk to anyone – but felt some concern as she watched the girl eat no more than a few mouthfuls. Still, she thought, maybe she was just tired. It had been a long day for all of the first years, and by the time pudding arrived, a few of them were almost asleep. Yes, it was probably just exhaustion...

* * *

Several weeks passed, and Pomona watched, as she always did, her new first year settle into their lives at Hogwarts. Sarah Clearwater was doing especially well – she had made plenty of friends and was achieving highly in her classes. Edgar Boot was also performing well, but had a rather unfortunate love for playing pranks on other students, which meant he'd already served several detentions for misbehaviour.

Some students, however, worried her more than others. Stephen McGinnis had been terribly homesick, but a quick conversation with him after Herbology (on the pretext of needing someone to assist with lifting the bags of compost) had led her to discover that, as a muggleborn, he was finding the change to life at Hogwarts to be more than a little overwhelming. After a few gentle suggestions to Edgar, when he had been in detention yet again, she had managed to get the more outgoing boy to take Stephen under his wing, and the two were now firm friends. Stephen seemed much happier, and had even been a good influence on Edgar.

"You see, that is what teaching is really about, I think," Pomona said, as she watered the Fanged Geraniums with Neville, having explained the situation to him. "It's less knowing your subject, at times, and more knowing and understanding the children."

"Is that something you're going to teach me to do this year?" Neville asked. Pomona was retiring from teaching at the end of the school year, and had taken Neville on as her apprentice to replace her as the school's Herbology teacher when she left.

"Oh, I don't think you need to worry about that – you seem to be doing a good enough job with your first years!" Pomona replied.

"Well, I've been fortunate that there haven't been too many issues with them this year," he said, putting down his watering can. "A bit of homesickness, but nothing too bad."

"Yes, mine have been fairly well behaved, too," she said, following suit. "Though," she paused for a moment, and Neville looked up. "I am rather worried about Victoire Weasley."

"Victoire? Why?" Neville asked. "She's not homesick, is she?"

"I don't think so," replied the older woman. "She seems to have made plenty of friends – and it helps that she knows Mr. Lupin so well; I think he's showing her the ropes a bit. She just seems sort of..."

"Out of place," Neville finished. Pomona looked at him in surprise.

"That's exactly it!" she exclaimed. "I've been trying to put my finger on it for weeks, and I just couldn't work out what was wrong with her. How did you know?"

"Well, it wasn't until you mentioned that you were worried about her that things clicked," Neville said, "but she sort of has that look on her face that I know I did for most of first year – that feeling of not really belonging, of having been put in the wrong place. Or the wrong House, I suppose. I think...I think that maybe she feels like she was Sorted into the wrong House, being a Hufflepuff," he finished.

Pomona considered this. "You know, considering all the tradition that surrounds the Weasleys being Gryffindors, and the...notoriety of that family, I think you may be right. I'll see if I can't have a talk with her."

Pomona's opportunity came the very next day. The first year Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws had double Herbology until four, and after the lesson was over, she asked Victoire to help her carry a pile of essays back up to the castle. "My third years have written me such lovely essays, it would be a shame to leave them in here for Professor Longbottom to spill dragon dung on them!"

This got a giggle out of Victoire, and Pomona stared at her thoughtfully as they walked back up to the castle. The girl seemed happy enough, and she had certainly made friends at school – she had had to give a group of them a mild ticking off for chatting too much during the lesson – but there was definitely something off with the girl. At mealtimes and when she saw her alone, she often thought that Victoire looked misplaced and listless, and on more than one occasion, she'd found her simply sitting outside the Hufflepuff Common Room, fiddling with the strap of her satchel and frowning at the entrance.

The walk to the castle did not take long, and the two of them entered Pomona's office, where she instructed that Victoire leave the papers on her desk. "Would you like something warming to drink whilst you're here?" she asked. "It can get mighty cold outside at this time of year and I do have a lovely stash of hot chocolate here somewhere..."

Victoire's eyes lit up at the mention of hot chocolate, as Pomona had thought they might. She had studied the habits of all of her first years, and knew that Victoire was particularly partial to the drink – even more so when it had marshmallows floating on the top. "I think I've got some marshmallows lying around too, what do you say?" she asked.

"Yes, please!" the girl said shyly. Pomona smiled.

"Have a seat, do," she said, indicating the plumply stuffed yellow armchair in the corner of the room, and putting the kettle on the fire to heat. She pottered around with the mugs, watching the girl as she stared around the office wide-eyed, taking in all the plant specimens. In the huge chair, she looked especially small – her feet barely touched the ground, and Pomona felt a rush of affection for her. Eleven was very young to go away from your family for the first time – and for someone who'd come from as close knit a family as Victoire's, it must be tough...

"Are you enjoying life at Hogwarts, Miss Weasley?" she asked, and Victoire turned back to her.

"Oh yes," she said, nodding enthusiastically. "Sarah and Jenna and Louise and me are all really good friends. And I know Millie and Priya in Ravenclaw, and Teddy Lupin in second year!"

"Oh yes, Mr. Lupin," nodded Pomona. "He's your uncle's godson, is he not?"

"Yep, Uncle Harry's. He's like another cousin," she confirmed. "Although," she said, pausing slightly. "I think I have enough cousins." She wrinkled her nose slightly and Pomona stifled a smile.

"You're the oldest of the bunch, aren't you?" asked Pomona. "The first Weasley in a generation to head to Hogwarts?"

A small sigh escaped Victoire's lips. "Yes, I am," she said, with markedly less enthusiasm. Pomona wondered whether she was onto something, perusing this line of inquiry.

"Marshmallows?" she asked, holding up a cup of steaming hot chocolate.

At this, Victoire looked much more cheerful, and nodded. "Yes, please," she said politely, accepting the cup when it was given to her. "I do have lots and lots of cousins," she said, once she had taken a sip of her drink. Pomona sat behind her desk and listened closely. "There's Dominique and Louis, who are my little sister and brother, and then nine other cousins. Nine! Molly and Roxanne are starting next year, then Dominique and Lucy the year after them. So there'll be lots of Weasleys here."

"There will indeed," nodded Pomona. "Your mother, if I recall rightly, went to Beauxbatons?" Victoire nodded. "Did you ever want to go there?"

The girl shook her head. "I don't speak very good French," she said. "And I wouldn't know anyone there – only my _Tante_ Gabrielle's boys, but they're ten years younger than me; only babies, really. I always wanted to come to Hogwarts..."

"Like your father, then," Pomona said.

"Yes," Victoire said, and then added, after a moment, "except he was in Gryffindor." The sentence seemed to hang in the air, and Pomona tried to think of a subtle way of asking what she wanted to.

"I'm sure your parents enjoy hearing all about your adventures at school," she said. "You're making very good grades, so they'll be very proud of that!"

"They do!" Victoire nodded. "And they don't mind that I'm not in Gryffindor..."

"Why would they mind you not being a Gryffindor?" Pomona asked. "You make an excellent Hufflepuff!"

"Mmm," Victoire said in reply. "But Weasleys always go in Gryffindor, not Hufflepuff!"

"I'm sure, if you looked back far enough, you would find plenty of non-Gryffindor Weasleys," Pomona said gently. "Besides, if the Sorting Hat thought you were a good fit for Hufflepuff, then I'm sure you must be! I personally think—"

"The Sorting Hat wanted to put my in Gryffindor, but I told it not to," Victoire said in a rush, looking so relieved to have this off her chest that Pomona had to pause for a moment. Was this what had been bothering the girl since she'd started at Hogwarts?

"The Sorting Hat wanted to put you in Gryffindor?" she repeated.

Victoire nodded. "It did. It said I was a Weasley, and a good match for Gryffindor and it was just about to send me there when I said that I didn't want to be a Gryffindor. And then it asked me where I wanted to go, and I said I didn't know, and then it said that it should put me in Gryffindor because that was where it thought I fitted. But I said that I didn't want to be the first Weasley to go to Gryffindor because I'm _always_ the first Weasley to do everything, just 'cos I was born first, but I didn't want to be born first and someone else should have a chance at being the first person to do something. And then the Hat said it was going to put me in Hufflepuff, but I don't know why."

"Oh," said Pomona, digesting all this. "My Goodness."

"And I don't think I _should_ be in Hufflepuff, I think it just put me here because there was nowhere else for me to go. So I feel like I'm in the wrong House," Victoire said, miserably.

Pomona thought for a moment. "Miss Weasley, you said that you told the Hat that you wanted someone else to have a chance at being the first for once, and that was why you asked not to be the first Gryffindor, is that correct?" Victoire nodded. "Then that was a very selfless thing to do. There can't be too many other first years who'd think of someone else's feelings during their Sorting."

"I suppose..." Victoire said doubtfully.

"To show such selflessness, and such loyalty and caring to your family, is the mark of a true Hufflepuff," she said gently. "The Hat didn't put you here because it thought there was nowhere else for you to go. It put you here because this is your true home – where you really belong."

"Do you really think so?" Victoire asked.

"I know so," Pomona said firmly.

Victoire looked relieved, and drank the rest of her hot chocolate quickly, chatting away merrily to her Head of House about the other boys and girls in first year. Pomona excused her once she had finished her drink, and watched in amusement as Victoire all but skipped into the Common Room.

A little while later, in early December, Pomona and Neville were decorating the Christmas trees in the Great Hall, as a bunch of lower school students had a snowball fight in the grounds outside. "Merlin's beard," Neville laughed, watching as two figures raced passed the window, shrieking loudly. "I do believe that's Teddy Lupin and Victoire Weasley. She certainly seems to have cheered up!"

"She has, hasn't she?" Pomona replied, artfully draping yellow baubals on the Hufflepuff tree. "I had a word with her a few weeks ago – she told me she felt like she didn't belong in my House, and that she should be somewhere else."

"What did you tell her?" asked Neville, wrapping gold tinsel around the tree next to Pomona's.

"Why, she told me herself why she belonged in Hufflepuff," Pomona said. "I just needed to make sure she heard it."

Neville smiled. Outside the window, the students ran passed again, and Pomona laughed at their antics. A flash of bright yellow caught her eye – Victoire's new scarf flapping in the breeze, she realised. Pomona felt proud.


	8. Innocence

**A/N: **Also for the **Snakes and Ladders **challenge with Dobby, the **Jelly Slugs** section of the Honeydukes Competition and the **100 Characters Competition **using prompt #29, rain. Phew! Also, this is written in a slightly different style to the other stories, but I hope it's obvious why.

Innocence

_lily luna (9)  
__1,987 words_

* * *

"I'm off to Shell Cottage," she hears her Daddy say, and she perks up immediately. Uncle Bill and Auntie Fleur's children are all grown up and gone away now, and so they're always excited to see her when she comes round. Auntie Fleur is the most glamorous of all her relations and she'll always plait her hair so beautifully. Once, she even let Lily spray on a little of her perfume! Teddy, too, is at Shell Cottage almost as much as he's at Lily's house (maybe because of Victoire, she thinks, or maybe he just likes the seaside), and she hasn't seen him in nearly a month so maybe if she goes with her Daddy, she'll get to see him, too.

"Wait for me!" she cries, rushing into the kitchen where Daddy is just putting on his cloak.

"Oh, no, sweetheart – you have to stay at home today," Mummy says, as she starts reaching for her own cloak so she can accompany her Daddy.

Her face falls. "Mummy's right, Lily," Daddy says. "Stay at home this time. It's too...it's raining. You can't come today."

"But I don't mind the rain! I'll wear my wellies," she says. "I want to go and see Uncle Bill and Auntie Fleur. And Teddy, too!"

"Well, you can't go today, love," Mummy replies. "Daddy has to go on his own."

"But _why_?" she whines, crestfallen. She watches as her parents exchange a glance.

"Because Daddy has some important things to do," Mummy says, with an air of finality, and she knows she's pushing her luck in responding, but she can't help it.

"But I can help with the important things! I'm good at helping. Take me with you, Daddy, please?"

"Not tonight, sweetheart. Like I say, it's raining horribly out there, look. Brr! Definitely a night for staying indoors," Daddy says.

"But I don't _care_ about the rain! I can come anyway," she replies.

"Darling, no. This is something I need to do myself," Daddy repeats.

"Well, what is it?" she asks. "Are you _sure_ I can't come and help?" Once again, her parents exchange glances like she's not even in the room, and it makes her angry.

"We'll tell you when you're older," her Daddy says, and she stomps her foot, rage building inside her.

"You _always_ say that and you _never do_!" she says. "You always say I'm too little to know and you tell James and Al _everything_ you do, and you never tell me anything and it's not fair!" She stomps her foot again, and runs out of the kitchen, into her bedroom, where she slams the door behind her and throws herself onto her bed in a rage. Daddy's _always _doing secretive things and he never, ever tells her anything. Her brothers get to know what they are, but she _never_ does, and it's just not fair.

After a few moments, she hears her mother's footsteps on the stairs, and hears her bedroom door open. "Lily Luna Potter," Mummy says, and she knows she's in trouble because that's the only time Mummy uses her full name. "I want you to apologise to your Daddy when he gets home, do you hear me?"

"No, I won't!" she says.

Her mother raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?" she asks, her voice low and dangerous.

"You and Daddy never tell me anything and you always say I'm too young and you tell James and Al _everything _and it's not fair and—"

"Lily Luna Potter," Mummy interrupts. "We do _not_ tell James and Albus everything, and you shouldn't listen to them when they say that we do; they're only trying to wind you up. As for the reason we don't tell you things – it's not because you're too young. It's because you are too innocent."

Lily isn't sure what her Mummy means by this, but there's a sadness in her eyes that's so strong it makes her scared to ask what she's talking about.

"Lily, do you remember last year, when Auntie Hermione was working on that big project at work? The one about House Elves' rights?" Mummy asks suddenly. Lily nods. "Do you remember what everyone called the project?"

Lily thinks. "Wasn't it Dobby's Law?" she asks. She remembers being confused about what a Dobby was, exactly, but every time she asked, the grown ups would simply tell her that they'd explain when she was older, and so eventually, she'd stopped asking.

"That's right," Mummy says. "You remember before you were born, there was the big war? And Daddy had to help people get rid of the nasty man who would say that some witches and wizards weren't as good as other witches and wizards?" Lily nods again. Her parents rarely talk about the war, and she's learnt that, when they do, she should listen.

"Well, Daddy had lots of help fighting the bad man, but it was very dangerous. Lots of people were hurt, and some people even died," Mummy says. "Like Teddy's Mummy and Daddy."

"And Uncle Fred," adds Lily. Mummy inclines her head.

"And Uncle Fred," she agrees. "They all died in the big fight at the end – the one that happened on the same day that Victoire was born. But a few months before the big fight, Dobby – who was a house elf – came to help Daddy when he was trapped, but when he helped Daddy escape, Dobby was killed."

"By the bad man?"

"By someone who supported the bad man," Mummy says seriously. "Before he died, Dobby managed to get Daddy to safety, to Uncle Bill and Auntie Fleur's house, but then he died. They buried him in the garden, and every year on the anniversary of his death, Daddy goes to visit him. That's where he's gone tonight."

"But why couldn't I go with him? I could help Daddy say goodbye to Dobby and help him be not sad," Lily says. Mummy sighs.

"It's not as easy as that. And besides, Daddy likes to go and see Dobby by himself. People deal with sadness in different ways, and Daddy likes to be alone sometimes," Mummy says. "Plus, we decided when you were born – well, when James was born – that we didn't want to tell you stories about the big war because it isn't very nice to think about, and we didn't want to make you sad. Daddy especially wants you to have a happy childhood – but I think you're old enough to understand a few things now."

Lily nods. "I'm sorry I shouted earlier," she says.

"You mustn't do it again," Mummy replies. "And you should apologise to Daddy when he gets back."

"Yes Mummy," Lily says contritely. "Mummy...do you think if I asked Daddy about Dobby, he would tell me about him? Not about the big fight, but about what he was like before the war? What happened in his life?"

"I...well, yes, I suppose he would," Mummy says, sounding surprised. "Why?"

"Because you said that when Daddy is sad, he likes to be alone. But I don't think that's a good idea because sometimes you need to talk about what makes you sad. When Rosie and Hugo's Grandad Granger died, Hugo used to tell me lots of stories about his Grandad from when he was alive, because it made him feel better to remember him. So if Daddy tells me happy stories about Dobby, maybe he will feel better!" Lily says.

Mummy blinks twice, then draws her into a hug. "I think that's a lovely idea, Lily," she says. "Now, why don't you put your jammies on, and then we'll sit downstairs in the living room and wait for him. You can help me with my match report, if you'd like!"

"Yes, please!" Lily says, and races off to the bathroom to get changed.

* * *

A few weeks later, Lily was spending the afternoon at Uncle Bill and Auntie Fleur's house. Mummy was in Germany, writing about the final of the Quidditch European League for the paper, and Daddy was working late at the Ministry. Lily didn't mind, as that meant Uncle Bill got to pick her up from primary school, and then she went back with him to Shell Cottage. She played hide and seek with him until Auntie Fleur got back from work, then Auntie Fleur painted her nails for her whilst Uncle Bill made dinner.

She had hoped that Teddy would come round like he used to, but Auntie Fleur told her that Teddy was afraid of Uncle Bill now that he was going out with Victoire and Lily laughed and said that Teddy was silly. Uncle Bill said that no, he was quite sensible actually, and he looked quite menacing for a moment. But then he let her have two helpings of ice cream and she wasn't scared of him any more.

After dinner, she and Auntie Fleur write a letter to all of her cousins at Hogwarts, and she sends a drawing of Teddy (with hair that Auntie Fleur charms to change colour on the page like it does on his head) to Victoire to cheer her up, because Auntie Fleur says that she misses him a lot. Then she gets very tired, so Uncle Bill makes her some cocoa and wraps her in a blanket and she falls asleep on the settee.

It's late when Daddy gets back, but his voice wakes her up and she comes padding into the kitchen, where he's talking to her Aunt and Uncle. "Hello, Lily-Lou!" he says, swinging her up into his arms. "Merlin, it's getting late! We'd better be getting back home."

"No, wait!" she says, squirming to be put down. "I have to show you something before we go!"

"Ees eet your drawing?" Auntie Fleur asks. "Lily painted a beautiful picture!" she adds.

"No, it's not that. It's outside!" she says, picking up one of her trainers and sliding it onto her foot. "Come and see!"

"Lils, I think it's getting a bit late for—" Daddy begins, but Lily is adamant.

"No, you have to come and see! It won't take long!" she looks beseechingly at him.

"Well, I suppose that five minutes wouldn't hurt..." Daddy says doubtfully and Lily cheers. Auntie Fleur finds an old cloak of Dominique's to wrap her up in, and Daddy helps her put on her other trainer, and then she, Daddy and Uncle Bill leave through the back door, their wands lighting the way.

"Is it the new hiding space you found earlier, Lily?" Uncle Bill asks. "Lily's getting very good at hide and seek, you know," he adds to Daddy.

"Nope, not that," she says, leading the way to the bottom of the garden. "I went to see Dobby earlier, when Uncle Bill was hiding," she explains. "Daddy told me all about him the other day," she adds to her Uncle. "I think he was very brave. And I wanted to give him something to say thank you for saving Daddy's life."

She stops suddenly, in front of the grave. "Look!" she says, pointing downwards. Daddy and Uncle Bill dutifully point their wands downwards. Nestled against the headstone are two pairs of terribly knitted socks – lumpy and mismatching – one of which has a wonky "D" stitched onto the side. "Mummy helped me make them, after you told me how much Dobby loved socks! But," she adds, momentarily downcast, "I don't think they're as good as they would have been if Mummy made them herself."

"Oh, _Lily_!" Daddy says, crouching down and drawing her into a hug so tight she can barely breathe. He doesn't say anything else, and Lily looks up at Uncle Bill, worried she's made Daddy upset or angry. Uncle Bill pats her head gently.

"I think Dobby would love them all the more because you made them," he says.

"Yes," Daddy says, and he's smiling even though his voice sounds a bit strange. "I _know_ he would."

* * *

**A/N: **I'd like to take this opportunity to thank Loonaticslover13 for all the lovely reviews – you have PM's turned off so I can't reply to you, but I really appreciated your reviewing each chapter!


	9. Cat

**A/N: **This one's also for the Bingo Card Drabble Challenge #88 – character: Mrs. Norris and prompt: _The Incredibles_. Both of those things are in here, however vaguely! Have a fluffy Potter family moment, because I've had a cheery day and feel like spreading the fluff about :-)

* * *

_Cat_

_James Sirius (11)  
__751 words_

* * *

"Oh! And did I tell you about the effing cat?!"

"Mind your language," Harry warns, but he can't keep the smile off his face at James's chattering. Even though Albus and Lily and his wife have long since cleared their dinner plates, James' is still half full – and not because there's anything wrong with Ginny's cooking, either. Ever since he got home from his first term at Hogwarts earlier that day, he'd been talking non-stop about his adventures at school.

"Sorry Dad," he replies, around a mouthful of food. Harry opens his mouth again to berate him for his poor manners, but catches Ginny's wink.

"Let him talk for tonight," she murmurs in his ear. "Al and Lily have missed him terribly, and he's missed them too, though he'd never admit it."

"Not in a million years," Harry chuckles.

"—and that was when he caught us!" James is saying, to gasps from his younger siblings. "All because of the eff—the cat." Harry tries not to laugh at his son's outrage on being caught breaking the rules.

"But cats are nice!" Lily, ever the animal lover, pipes up.

"Not this one," grumbles James. "It doesn't even have a nice name – _Mrs. Norris_. How stupid's that!"

Ginny looks up at Harry, registering the name at the same time he does. "Hang on a minute—" she begins.

"That can't be—" Harry says at the same time.

"It _is_," James nods. "We asked Uncle George about it. It's the same cat from when you were there. I think Filch's feeding it some kind of live forever potion. Or it's got a superpower like in that film Lily likes – what's it called again?"

Harry knows that James knows the name of Lily's favourite film, but he's touched to see his son making the effort to involve her in the conversation.

"_The Incredibles_!" Lily cries, bouncing slightly in her seat.

"That's the one," James says. "Anyway, the day that cat drops dead'll be the best day ever." He speared a carrot rather viciously. "Apparently she nearly did a few years ago. Actually, a lot few years ago. Maybe even when you two were at school," he adds, nodding towards his parents. "Something happened, though I dunno what. She was like...knocked out for months? I don't really understand. All I remember is—"

"So, who wants pudding?!" Ginny cuts across him, speaking in an overly enthusiastic tone that Harry's quick to pick up on. "Ice cream and a movie? Sound good?!"

The kids cheer, and rush into the living room. Ginny moves around them, setting up the DVD player with help from Albus, sorting out the dishes of ice cream with James and helping Lily select the film (_The Incredibles_, naturally) – doing anything, Harry notices, but look him in the eye. It isn't until they're halfway through the film, when she slips out to clean up the kitchen, that he's able to catch her alone. "Are you okay?" he asks, noting the way she's cleaning the Muggle way, and how her hands shake as she lifts the dirty plates.

"Fine!" she says, overly brightly. He gives her a look. "Sorry," she apologises. "No. I'm...I'll be okay. It's just a bit jarring to hear James talk about Mrs. Norris and the petrifying and...everything."

"Oh, darling," Harry says, moving in to rub her back. "Do you want me to talk to him? Tell him not to bring it up again?"

"No," Ginny shakes her head immediately. "He'll want to know _why_ he can't talk about her – and then we'd have to tell him the whole story."

"We'll have to tell them eventually," Harry says.

"I know," Ginny replies. "But – look how happy he is! Look how much fun he's had in his first term," she gestures towards the lounge, where the three children are lying sprawled against each other on the sofa, peacefully watching the film. "He is _so_ happy. And I'm so, so grateful for that. I remember my first year. It was...awful. And I just want him to have a bit longer to be happy because..."

"Because it makes it better for you?" Harry asks.

She nods. "Yes. I don't want to spoil his innocence the way ours was. It's what we fought for..."

"It is," Harry agrees. "And we'll hold off telling them about things for a while longer, I agree. Though with the amount of trouble he gets in, I think we'll be hearing a fair bit more about Mrs. Norris over the next few years!"

"I doubt you'll be wrong there," Ginny laughs.


	10. Window

**A/N: **Also also for the **Bingo Card Drabble Challenge** with character #14 (Penelope Clearwater) and the prompt "give me one good reason".

* * *

_Window  
__Hugo (13)_

"Mr. Weasley, I have records of your grades in your other classes, and they are very good – you should be very proud of them. But in my class, Arithmancy, your grades have been consistently poor. This is nothing to be ashamed of – Arithmancy is a very challenging subject, and some people struggle with it. You seem, according to your Transfiguration teacher, to have a natural aptitude for the subject. Here, I'm afraid you _don't_ have a natural aptitude. You would be much better off concentrating your efforts on your other subjects, and dropping Arithmancy altogether. Many students do indeed drop a subject at the end of their third year, finding it not for them. There's no shame in it."

Penelope finishes her speech, taking care to keep her voice calm and sympathetic. She likes Hugo Weasley well enough, but his grades in her subject have just not been good enough, and if he carries on like he has done so far, there's no way he'll scrape a passing OWL grade in two years' time.

"Please, Professor, let me carry on!" he begs, and Penelope frowns ever so slightly. She does not understand why he's so desperate to carry on with a class he obviously finds so difficult, when he's doing so well in his other subjects.

"Give me one good reason why I should," she says.

"I'll do extra homework! I'll study more, I'll get a tutor! I'll come back after school if you want and I'll do more work then, and—" She holds up a hand to halt his garbled pleas.

"Strictly between you and me, Mr. Weasley, if I thought your grades were this low because you were not putting in enough effort, I would have removed you from the course long ago. I can see how hard you're trying with this class, and I appreciate that. I have done my best to help you this year, but I do not see any point in overloading you with work that you're not going to achieve highly on, especially as this risks your grades slipping in your other subjects. I honestly feel you would be better off dropping Arithmancy, and concentrating—"

"No!"

She raises her eyebrows at his protest, and he blushes. "Sorry, Professor. I just...I really need to carry on with this class."

Penelope raises an eyebrow at the unexpected turn of phrase. "Why do you _need_ this class?" she asks.

Hugo is silent for a moment, staring uncomfortably out of the window, before answering her question.

"I want to join my Uncle in his joke shop, you know, Weasleys' Wizarding—"

"I have confiscated enough products from your Uncle's store over the years; I know which shop you mean. Continue," she says.

"Well, I want to work there, but he and my parents – Mum especially – say I need to have a good head for business and it's not all playing pranks and telling jokes. So they want me to take Arithmancy, to show them I can handle the accountancy side of things," Hugo says.

Penelope considers this. Hugo is clearly passionate about this career choice, even though he is only a third year, and she's seen enough of his tricks and jokes in the classroom to know that it would not be a bad job for him at all. But it's his throwaway comment about his mother that really makes her think.

Penelope owes her life to Hugo Weasley's mother.

It was the strangest thing to realise, at the age of seventeen, that she was only alive because of the actions of a twelve year old. She had been an adult, top of her class, popular, in a loving relationship, pretty..._perfect,_ and all that could have been snuffed out in a heartbeat. It only _wasn't_ snuffed out because of the intelligence of a second year.

She remembers promising herself that whatever Hermione Granger needed, she would be on hand to provide, but she realised quickly that there wasn't anything she could do for the girl—or woman, as she is now. She's never going to save her life in return, or save her from anything, really.

But what she can do is help her son.

And it's a tiny little thing – worth nothing, really, on the grand scale of things. But sometimes, it's the little things that count.

So she opens the window to the fresh air; pulls out an old textbook and invites Hugo to have a seat. If this is her repayment, she will make it worthwhile.


	11. Passion

Passion

_Lucy, James & Fred (various ages)  
__4605 words_

* * *

Three months before Lucy was due to start at Hogwarts, she fell out of a tree at her Aunt and Uncle's house and broke her ankle. She had been spending the day with the Potters whilst her parents were at work, and it was their oldest child who found her, groaning in pain on the grass.

"What's wrong with _you_?" nine year old James asked, not fully grasping the seriousness of the situation. He, Fred and Lucy were playing hide and seek in his large garden, and he thought it was strange that Lucy would give up so suddenly. She was normally the last to be found, always adept at folding herself into smaller and smaller hiding holes, and so to see her lying on the ground in plain sight was most disconcerting.

"My foot hurts," Lucy told him, and the strange gasping noises she was making instead of breathing normally, combined with the paper whiteness of her face and the odd angle her foot was sticking out at _terrified_ him.

"Wait here," he commanded, bolting off in the direction of the broomshed (Fred's choice of hiding place was always so predictable). Moments later, the two boys were staring down at their cousin as she cried.

"It hurts," Lucy sobbed, and Fred reached out and patted her reassuringly on the shoulder.

"You'll be okay," Fred said. "Auntie Ginny can fix everything."

James, who had been eyeing up the logistics of the situation, suddenly crouched down next to her. "We're going to carry you inside, because you can't move," he said. "Put your arms on us." Lucy was short and slim, and her cousins were both big for their age, but there was still a significant size difference between them and her. Regardless, Fred mimicked James and crouched down on her left side, slipping one hand around her waist and the other under her thigh.

"Don't worry," he said. "We won't hurt you."

Carefully, the boys lifted her up and carried her across the garden, using their arms as a seat for her. The Potters' lawn was not really that big, but it had never seemed so large to the three of them as they made their way slowly across it. Lily, playing with her dolls in the kitchen, was the first to see James and Fred carrying Lucy towards the house.

"Wassamatter?" she asked, pointing at Lucy. "Lucy hurt!"

"Lily, fetch Mummy," James panted, and his little sister obediently toddled off further inside the house, calling for their mother who was busy writing an article for the _Prophet_. In no time at all, Ginny had whisked Lucy off to St. Mungo's, where Healers fixed Lucy's leg in a trice. Audrey and Percy both left work early to take Lucy home to fuss over her, and Ginny headed back to her own house.

"You were both very brave, looking after Lucy like that," Ginny told them. "I'm very, very proud of you both."

"Is she going to be okay?" James asked, wide-eyed.

"She most certainly is – all thanks to the quick thinking of you two," his mother replied. "You both did very well!"

Later, sat outside eating the biscuits Ginny had found them as a special treat, James told his cousin that they should look out for Lucy more often. "Why?" Fred asked with a smirk. "Because we get the good biscuits?"

"Nah," James laughed. "'Cause she doesn't have any brothers to look after her. Molly either. So we should look after them both."

Fred considered this. "Shall we get Louis to help us?" he asked.

James shook his head. "Lou's already got _two _sisters," he said, shaking his head sympathetically. "We can't ask him to look after any more."

"That's true," said Fred. "Let's swear it, then."

And so, using an elaborate secret handshake impossible for anyone who wasn't a genius like the two of them to decipher, Fred and James swore to always look out for Molly and Lucy, as neither of them had any brothers to do it instead.

* * *

In time, Molly proved not to need their protection. Partially, this was because, when they began their first year at school, Molly was starting her fourth year, and James and Fred, though still tall for their age, were in no way capable of taking on boys in fourth year in a fight. But it was also because Molly was a carbon copy of both her parents: studious and quiet, she flew under the radar of most other pupils, and wouldn't dream of breaking any rules likely to get her into any scrapes she might need rescuing from. She also began dating Evan Wood at the end of their fourth year, and stayed with him throughout the rest of their time at school. Her honour did not need defending, and Evan treated her well enough that neither boy felt the need to threaten him like they did Roxanne's first boyfriend, when their relationship ended somewhat acrimoniously.

It also helped that Evan was the Captain of their Quidditch Team—someone both boys wanted to curry favour with—and Roxanne's boyfriend had been the Slytherin team's star Chaser. Any excuse to try to sabotage the Slytherin Quidditch Team was always taken, even if, on this occasion it landed them in a month's worth of (separate) detention. It may have been longer, except for the fact that Professor Longbottom was actually rather impressed at the amount of damage two first years had managed to inflict _without magic_ on a fifth year, and he had heard the rumours that Martin Belby had been spreading about Roxanne. With the exception of this incident, however, the boys hadn't needed to do any particular defending of Roxanne, either.

("It's because she's so scary," Fred had confided in James one day, when his older sister had finished screeching at them for attempting to dye her hair green as a prank. "Honestly," he'd continued, rubbing his arm where the book she'd thrown at him had hit him, "you'd have to be stupid to cross her..." James, who had been hit with a silencing charm, could only nod ruefully.)

Lucy proved to be the total opposite. She had a knack for getting herself in all sorts of trouble, and picking the sort of boys who also proved to be trouble. At the start of her third year, James and Fred's first, it was they who went to the current Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain to persuade him of his error in dismissing her as "a silly little girl" and that, actually, he needed a girl like Lucy as his Seeker—even though, once they had done this, Hufflepuff won every match they played that year.

During her fourth year, it was they who joined her in pranking the entire Ravenclaw Quidditch team, who believed that girls were not able to captain Quidditch teams as well as boys—despite the Hufflepuff team, led by her, flattening them 30-270. And in her fifth year, when her first relationship ended badly, it was James and Fred who sorted out the boy in question, even though Lucy told them—through her tears—that she was quite capable of dealing with him herself.

In Lucy's sixth year, the boys wrote to their mothers, both of whom had been involved with professional Quidditch though for different teams, imploring them to use their connections in the sporting world to send scouts to Lucy's games at Hogwarts. She was too young to be officially offered a place on any team yet; the Department for Magical Games and Sports stipulated that only eighteen year olds—those who had completed their seventh year at Hogwarts—were allowed to be scouted, but despite this, there was already quite the buzz around Lucy Weasley.

She was named _Quidditch Monthly's _Most Promising Young Player of the Year after her astonishing performance in the Hufflepuff-Slytherin game, a fact for which James and Fred took full credit, having demanded that their mothers send scouts from the Holyhead Harpies and Falmouth Falcons respectively.

And then, in her seventh and final year, everything changed.

* * *

"Oh, I think she's asleep," Fred said, backing out.

"She's not," Lucy responded, opening her eyes. "She just thought you were Dominique, bringing yet more schoolwork for her to catch up on. Seriously, NEWT year is horrible. Don't do it, I say."

"When have we ever done our schoolwork?" asked James, pulling up a chair and looking at his cousin with uncharacteristic tenderness.

"Good point well made," she said. "So, what's the latest gossip from the hallowed halls of Hogwarts?"

"Nothing new I'm afraid," said Fred, taking a seat on the opposite side of the bed to his cousin.

"No?"

"Nope—you're still the hot topic of conversation," James confirmed.

"Urgh, can't someone break up with their boyfriend or have a meltdown in Transfiguration or something?" Lucy grumbled. "I swear, if one more person comes in here looking at me with that horrible _pitying _look on their face, I'll—"

"Well, we were planning on pranking Professor Clearwater next week, but we can bring that forward to tomorrow if you'd like," Fred cut in.

"Yeah, we won't give you any more information than that—plausible deniability, you know?—but it'll definitely be all people are talking about for days afterwards. They'll forget all about silly old you," James added.

"Professor Clearwater? She'll eat you alive if you try anything in her class," Lucy scoffed.

James put a hand to his heart and mimed swooning. "I _wish_ she would," he said.

"Merlin!" Lucy shrieked, throwing a box of Every Flavour Beans one of her many well-wishers had sent her at his head in disgust.

"I agree with Lucy," Fred said. "Everyone knows the only fanciable teacher here is Professor McGonagall." The others laughed, and the two boys continued to talk nonsense to Lucy until the school matron, Madam Spinnet, came to chase them out to their afternoon lessons. They allowed themselves to be chased out, but Fred looked back at Lucy as he reached the doorway, and nudged James. He put a finger to his lips and nodded in Lucy's direction.

Her eyes were closed, and two tears were making their way slowly down her cheeks. "What can we do?" he asked, as they dawdled down to the dungeons for Potions.

"What _can _we do?" asked James. "She's just found out she's never going to be able to play Quidditch professionally. That fall she took has permanently screwed up her back, and her reflexes are shot to bits. Madam Spinnet did what she could, but even magic can't fix _that_. The only thing she's ever wanted to do is play Quidditch professionally. We said we'd look out for her but...we can't fix this. There's nothing we can do."

"What about coaching?" Fred said. "Lots of players go into that when they get too old to play professionally—look at Mum. Or Molly's boyfriend's Dad, you know, Oliver Wood..."

"Yeah, but it's mostly ex-pros who do that; they wouldn't accept someone who's just out of Hogwarts," sighed James. "And even if there was a job going in that sort of area, it's not like we could get it for her. Face it, even we can't help now."

* * *

Three days later, Lucy was finally released from the Hospital Wing. Her arrival in the Great Hall at breakfast caused a storm of excitement—the fall from her broom in the Ravenclaw-Hufflepuff game had already become the stuff of Hogwarts' legend. "She's lucky to be alive," murmured a fifth year Slytherin as she passed their table.

"Yes, there's not many who could fall from that height and still survive," his friend agreed.

"It's such a shame about her injury," she heard a Ravenclaw seventh year say.

"Yes," agreed the Ravenclaw's younger sister, a fourth year Hufflepuff. "We'll never win the Cup now..." she added gloomily.

"Lucy!" Dominique ran up to her cousin and slung an arm around her shoulders. "You _have _to come and explain this Charms homework to me! I _knew _I shouldn't have left it to the last minute, there's always something I can't do..." Lucy knew that Dominique, who was probably the best in their year at Charms, needed her help with homework as much as she needed her help with hairstyles—Dominique's Veela genes ensured she could roll out of bed looking immaculate—but she appreciated her cousin's attempts to distract her from the rest of the school's gossiping.

Dominique steered her firmly towards the Gryffindor table, continuing to chatter on about their Charms homework, and the other Weasleys and Potters closed in around them, shielding Lucy from the worst of the gossip. It wasn't malicious—most of the students were glad to see she was okay, even if the Hufflepuffs were upset that their legendary captain would never play again—but she still wasn't a fan of being the centre of attention for such a negative reason, and she certainly didn't want to be reminded of the fact that she could never play Quidditch again. It was worse than any break-up she'd been through; the one thing that had been a constant in her life from such a young age had been suddenly torn away...tears formed in her eyes just thinking about it, and she blinked them back somewhat angrily. She would _not _be so ridiculous as to cry in front of the entire school...

After a few minutes of Dominique valiantly talking about homework, the post arrived, and Lucy was no longer the most fascinating person in the room. Lily, only a first year, had a letter from her parents which contained a packet of Chocolate Frogs that she immediately offered to give to her older cousin to cheer her up. Touched, tears sprang up again in Lucy's eyes, and after thanking her cousin (but refusing the chocolates), she looked away, eager to find something to distract herself with.

Fred, on her other side, was hastily stuffing something into his schoolbag with a very furtive air about him, and she quirked an eyebrow at him in some amusement. "Trying to smuggle a dirty mag in, Freddie dear?" she asked, and he looked so guilty on being caught that for half a minute she thought she was correct. "You're not?!" she pressed, giving a shocked laugh.

Fred flushed slightly. "'Course not!" he said. "It's just...well...this month's _Which Broomstick_ arrived, and I thought you might not want it being shoved in your face, you know?"

"It's fine!" Lucy said. "Give it here, I want to have a look." Fred looked doubtful. "C'mon, hand it over! Apparently, there's an article about the new Firebolt Pro in there—I want to have a gander at it..."

Somewhat reluctantly, Fred handed over the magazine, and Lucy started flicking through it until she got to the article. The journalist waxed lyrical for several paragraphs just about the look and feel of the new broom, before he even took it flying to test it out, which apparently was one of the best experiences of his life. _The professional teams will all be emptying their vaults to get their hands on these brooms, but they will be worth it. Quidditch players up and down the country will be..._

She couldn't even finish the sentence before the tears sprung up in her eyes yet again. The professional Quidditch teams would never include her, now—her injury had put paid to that idea. It wasn't _fair_. Quidditch had been what she always wanted to do, as far back as she could remember. And every time she even read about it in a magazine, was she going to cry now?

Lucy put her head in her hands and sighed. And, across the table, James and Fred exchanged looks.

* * *

"Psst, Lucy!"

Startled, Lucy looked up from the pile of Transfiguration notes she was frantically re-reading. "What?" she mouthed, surprised to see her two cousins in the library. "I'm kind of busy right now..."

"This won't take a moment," said James, and Fred nodded enthusiastically.

"Come on, we've got something to show you," he said, pulling her to her feet. Her chair scraped backwards, making a loud sound against the wooden floor, and the other seventh years in the vicinity turned around and glared at them. Guiltily, she sent apologetic glances their way, but Fred and James were not to be deterred.

"If you don't come quietly, we'll take you by force..." warned James, and Lucy followed the two of them out of the library, mostly to avoid being thrown out on the day before her last ever exam.

"Look," she began, once the door had closed behind them, "your OWLs may be over, but my NEWTs are _not_. And I have to actually get decent grades on these exams because I can't rely on playing Quidditch any more—I have to get a proper job, so if this is one of your pranks—"

"Yeah, yeah," said James. "You'll thank us for this in a moment—it''s not a prank, I promise."

"We overheard you talking to Dominique about your plans once you've left school," Fred said. "And, no offence, but following your Dad into the Ministry sounds like the worst thing ever."

"I know it does," sighed Lucy, "but what choice do I have? There's nothing else I particularly want to do, except play Quidditch, which I can't do now because my back's been screwed up since my fall. And most other Quidditch related jobs—coaching, writing about matches, hell, even the business side of things—go to ex-players, really. I don't have a chance of breaking into that field..."

"I _know_—you've only spent the past four months being dead miserable about that," James said, rolling his eyes. "But saw an ad for something in the paper the other day, and we thought you'd like it." He thrust a piece of parchment in her hands. "The people who make Firebolts are offering an apprenticeship in broom making, and you always were complaining about the design of the handle."

"Now's your chance to do something about that," put in Fred. "If you got the apprenticeship, you could get a job designing brooms—which is probably the next best thing to playing Quidditch, if you can't do that because of your injury..."

"I don't know..." Lucy sighed. "It's not really something I've thought about much before, and I still have this Transfiguration NEWT to do and everything..."

"Well, you don't have to make your mind up today," Fred said fairly. "It's just—something to think about."

"Huh," said Lucy. "Well...thanks for giving me this," she added.

"No worries," grinned James. "Anyway, we have to go. Enjoy working!" She waved them off, heading back into the library, but her mind was already elsewhere. Designing brooms wasn't something she'd even thought of as a career before now, but James and Fred seemed to think she might enjoy it. James was right—she had always thought that the design of the handle of her Firebolt let down the broom. It just wasn't aerodynamic enough, especially for a Seeker, though admittedly, it was still the best broom in all other ways. It would work much better if...

No. She had to concentrate on her Transfiguration NEWT—her exam was tomorrow. She didn't have time to be worrying about this apprenticeship now. Despite this, her eyes were still glued to the advertisement her cousins had given her. There was an address to write to for an application form; details of what sort of work the apprentice would be doing...

"No!" she whispered to herself. "You've got to study for Transfiguration! Sort this out tomorrow..."

"Ssh!" hissed at least four other seventh years. Lucy, brain already filling with potential broom designs, couldn't bring herself to feel too guilty...

* * *

These days, no one remembered that Lucy Weasley had once almost been a Quidditch superstar. Her meteoric rise in the broom design world had made everyone forget about how promising she'd been as a Seeker, and how devastating her accident, had been. She'd revolutionised the Firebolt design, and now, at the age of almost-thirty, was about to bring out her very own range of brooms for the first time.

There was, in fact, such a buzz in the Quidditch world over her new designs that her manager had organised a press conference and launch party, which James was currently attending with his mother. Ginny was there on behalf of the _Daily Prophet_—she was now their Senior Quidditch Editor—but they were by no means the only members of the extended Weasley-Potter family there; as many of them who could get time off work had come to celebrate Lucy's success. He waved Fred over, seeing him lurking on the side lines, and his cousin took a seat just as the questions began.

The first was about the unusual designs of the brooms. "Well," Lucy began. "It's a well-known fact that each player on a Quidditch team has a different job to do, and they often fly differently, too. Seekers, for example, need to be able to streak across the pitch at high speeds, but also spend much more time hovering around in the air than most other players. So I thought, why not design a range of brooms that help that? Our brooms for Beaters are very heavyset, to give added strength when a Bludger's hit across the pitch. The brooms for Seekers are very streamlined and light, to aid in the zooming about I mentioned before. And the brooms we've got for Chasers have the best core stability, to help them with their balance when they're making those tricky shots!"

The next question came from a nervous young reporter from _Which Broomstick_. "What inspired you to design brooms?"

"This particular range, or what inspired me in general?" Lucy asked.

"Er...both?" asked the reporter.

"Well, I'll get to the first part in a moment, but in answer to the second half of your question...it's all down to two of my cousins, James and Fred," Lucy smiled. James's head snapped up on hearing this, and he glanced to his left and saw his cousin looking just as alert. "I was badly injured in a game at school, and my back has never properly healed. I'm okay for day to day activities, but playing Quidditch is now impossible—at least, it is on any professional level, and that had been my dream for years. So I moped around the castle for months, not sure what I wanted to do with my life and generally being a right pain in the backside, when one day they handed me and advert which contained details of my first apprenticeship—the one at Firebolt—and...well, here I am!"

She gave a modest shrug, and the press laughed. "In fact, I'm not sure I ever properly thanked them for that. So let me go on record here, thanking them for what they did—or else I'd never be here today, and I'd probably be stuck in some boring job at the Ministry of Magic, like my Dad still wants me to be!" Percy Weasley, sat in the front row with his wife, tried (and failed) to look offended at his daughter's words.

The press conference continued, but James wasn't really paying attention—he felt touched by Lucy remembering that he and Fred had been the one to give her the advert and thus introduce her to her passion all those years ago. "Fancy her remembering that," Fred murmured in his ear, and James grinned.

"I was just thinking the same thing...to be honest, I'd almost forgotten about that myself," he replied.

"Right," whispered Fred. "How many drinks d'you reckon she owes us for that, then?" James snorted.

Once the question and answer session was over, Ginny immediately went over to congratulate her niece, leaving James and Fred alone. "No wonder Peter could barely get his question out," said a familiar sounding voice, and the two of them turned.

"Lysander! Good to see you, man!" James said, clapping him on the back. After Lysander had finished at Hogwarts, he had spent three years in South America, and this was the first time James had seen him since, despite him having been back for a good few months.

"How're things? And what are you doing here?" added Fred.

"Things are good," replied Lysander. "And I'm here as a reporter for _The Quibbler_. It's my grandfather's paper, you know."

"_The Quibbler _has a Quidditch section?" asked Fred, amused.

"_The Quibbler _has every section," said Lysander gravely.

"What did you mean about Peter?" asked James, as his cousin appeared rather flummoxed by this response. "Hang on—who even is Peter?"

"Peter was in my year at school—a Ravenclaw," Lysander answered. "He was the man trying to ask Lucy about what inspired her to start designing, but he could hardly get his question out. It's no wonder, though—she's very pretty. Such attractiveness can throw you off..." He picked up a sandwich from the buffet table, apparently unaware that James and Fred were raising their eyebrows at each other behind his back.

"Excuse me?" asked Fred. "Did you just say our cousin is hot?!"

"Well she _is_," said Lysander, in his strange, matter-of-fact way. "She's very pretty." No sooner had he said this than two other old friends approached him, dragging him off to catch up with them, leaving Fred and James, both slightly mystified, staring at each other.

"Well," said James.

"_Well_," agreed Fred.

"Who knew?!"

"Who knew what?" asked a new voice.

"Lucy!"

"Ssh!" she hissed. "I'm dying for a sandwich—I need to keep a low profile for a moment," she said, grabbing a plate and loading it with food.

"Don't worry, we'll save you," James said over-dramatically.

"Or at least hide you," said Fred.

"Aww, thanks guys," Lucy said, around mouthfuls of food. "And thanks for coming!"

"It's our pleasure," said James. "You're our favourite broom designer, after all!"

"I'd better be, what with all the freebies I've given you over the years," she grinned. "Oh," she added, poking Fred, "should you even be here, though? Isn't your missus about to pop at any moment?!"

Fred grinned. "The baby's due next month, so I should be safe for tonight," he explained.

"Not long to go now!" smiled Lucy. "I hope you're catching up on all your sleep at the moment, though..."

Fred laughed, but James rolled his eyes dramatically. "Please, let's not talk about this," he said. "It makes me feel so old!"

"I feel this would be a more reasonable demand had you not gotten engaged last month," noted Lucy drily.

"And how's _your _lovelife doing, Lucy dearest?" asked James. "Got any handsome men hanging around?"

Lucy narrowed her eyes at him. "Urgh, stop. You sound like my mother!" she said. "Although...who was that guy you were just talking to? He looked kind of familiar...and also kind of hot...I don't know who—oh, yes? Of course, I'll be there in just a second!"

Someone James and Fred didn't recognise was already dragging Lucy off for yet another photo-op with the brooms she had designed, leaving them unable to question her further. But judging by the look on Fred's face, thought James, he was clearly thinking along the same lines as he was...

"Does this still count as looking out for Lucy?" he asked.

"What, setting her up with someone who finds her attractive, and who also finds her attractive? Of course," replied Fred.

"Right," grinned James. "I'll take Ly..."

"And I'll get Luce."

"Meet you back here in five?"

"Done."

* * *

_This is for __**acciohope15 **__for March in the Gift Giving Extravaganza, who wanted Fred and James brotherly interaction and Lucy/Lysander—I know there's not much of that, but I hope you enjoyed the platonic, family vibes! Also, I'm really, really, really sorry about how late this is—I hope you enjoyed it anyway :)_

_This is also for the first Tech Discovery activity in Camp Potter over at HPFC ("write about Lucy Weasley"), for, appropriately enough, the Weasley cabin!_


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